


Tough Messes Handled

by salamanderinspace



Category: Black Swan (2010), Jupiter Ascending (2015), Magic Mike (2012), Magic Mike (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Crossover, Fluff, Food, Gen, JA Secret Santa, Recurrence, Science, Science Gal Pals, Space Princesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 07:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5488739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salamanderinspace/pseuds/salamanderinspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jupiter Jones takes a job cleaning for a celebrity. (Pre-Canon Jupiter Ascending, Post-Thor, Pre-Avengers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Messes Handled

"I booked new client for you, Jupiter," Uncle Vassily announced at dinner one night. The table was crowded with the usual assortment of Russian relatives, partaking of booze, kolbasa, and other food to blunt the edge of a hard day's work. "Very promising domestic job. Client asks for small crew, one cleaner. She is hot-shot scientist. You want?"

"Small crew? What is this?" Aleksa barked. Jupiter's mother sneered openly at Vassily from across a bowl of pierogie. "What for does she want one cleaner?"

"Famous scientist, she is very private person." Vassily waved his hands as if he could float Aleksa's disapproval away on a breath of air. "One person job, small crew. I am giving Jupiter priority."

"I'll take priority!" Jupiter chirped, before Aleksa could huff and puff. "How exciting. Someone famous. Who is it?" 

"Name is Jane Foster. Astrophysicist. She is renting townhouse for the summer on Lakeshore East."

Jupiter's jaw dropped; pieces of latke nearly felt out onto the table. "Jane Foster? Like, from New Mexico?" A long-term curiousity about all things space kept Jupiter in the loop when something big happened in science news. Jane Foster was something big. According to CNN, the physicist had been researching wormholes when, supposedly, she made contact with actual aliens. Different media sources and the government had conflicting accounts of what followed; Jupiter followed the story until it fizzled out under a blanket of wild speculation.

"Cooool," little Moltka murmured, "aliens!"

"Bubba-maisa," Aleksa muttered. "Sounds like rich weirdo. Be careful, Jupiter." She looked daggers at Vassily. "Solo job is not safe."

\----

Jupiter learned from Wikipedia that Dr. Foster was a genius, an alumna of Culver University, and under consideration for a Nobel prize. She learned from the bathroom floor that Dr. Foster was a mess. The toilet hadn't been cleaned in weeks; the sink was a catastrophe. Jupiter set about dismantling the mosaic of long, honey-amber hairs plastered to the shower tile. She sprayed corrosive cleaner in the tub, then dropped to her knees to do the floors. After dislodging several No-Doz from the drain catch (and several more from a heating vent) Jupiter started to feel an affinity with the sloppy scientist. Maybe Jane had the beauty and the smarts and the career and...well, everything...but she clearly didn't have life all figured out. Jupiter resisted the urge to peek at Jane's prescriptions. 

"Ewww, who eats in the bathroom?" Jupiter gagged. A rag collected the remnants of Cheetos and Cookie Crisp from dusty corners. The trash had food in it as well: two devastated boxes of Pop-Tarts in a sea of tissues and medicine bottles. There were some magazines: Nylon and Pointe, both of which looked like they'd been dropped in the bathtub. Jupiter thumbed through the distorted pages while the tub cleaner set. They were slightly surreal, full of runny eyes and fragmented words.

By the time Jupiter finished cleaning the oversized townhouse it was nearly sunset. She packed up her toilet brush and stopped by Jane's lab on her way out. The second floor of the house had been retrofitted as a state-of-the-art research facility with observatory, cold storage, ventilation, and a lot of machines that Jupiter couldn't quite identify. Secretly hoping the young scientist would initiate some sort of space-related chit-chat, Jupiter lurked a little. Unfortunately Dr. Foster's face appeared to be metaphorically melded to a giant microscope. 

"You can take off whenever you're finished," Foster muttered, without raising her head. "I've already settled up with the service. There's a tip for you on the kitchen counter."

"Oh, I saw that. Um, thank you." Jupiter lingered for an extra second, unsure. She desperately wanted to ask questions. Was there really some kind of alien attack robot in New Mexico? Where was it from? Who made it? In the end, Jupiter kept things professional. After all, not every client of Bolotnikov's Best Russian Cleaning Service was eager to kibitz with the help.

Jupiter turned to leave. Just as her heel grazed the door frame, she heard Dr. Foster's voice. "Hey. Wait!"

"Yes?" Jupiter turned around to find Dr. Foster decoupled from her work. She looked somewhat frayed. Her hair was uncombed; she was thinner than she'd been on the news. She was staring at Jupiter with a sunken-eyed look of surprise.

"Do we know each other? I mean, have we met before?"

"Um, I don't think so, Dr. Foster."

The scientist regarded Jupiter with skepticism and confusion. "Please, call me Jane. You look like someone...you know, never mind." A curious smile spread over her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper; she pointed urgently at her microscope. "I think I'm on the verge of something."

"Oh? Like some kind of breakthrough?" The young housekeeper was naturally curious. Despite Jane's strange demeanor, Jupiter felt eager to win Jane's confidence. "Do you need any help?"

"My assistant Darcy is out of town," Dr. Foster replied. "I need someone to bounce ideas off of."

Jupiter felt herself gasp with excitement. "Oh, ok, cool." She took a seat on a stainless steel lab-stool, crossing her legs and paying rapt attention.

Jane grinned, and held up a finger to indicate wait one second. She then turned to her notes. Jupiter expected her to read something off, or maybe pass over some sketches or diagrams. Instead, Jane became lost in her work. She started flipping back and forth from page to page, mouthing silent formulas and chewing her lip thoughtfully. She seemed to forget Jupiter was there.

"Uh, I'm ready when you are," Jupiter said. "Bounce away."

"What do you know about genetic recurrence?" Jane spurted. The words left her mouth like a gunshot. She then snapped the notebook shut with such velocity that Jupiter's heart skipped a beat. 

Genetic recurrence. The phrase was not familiar to Jupiter Jones but it had an important ring to it. She was keen to hear more. "Is that some kind of science thing?" Jupiter held up the cleaning caddy and gestured to her rubber gloves. "I don't exactly have an academic background."

Jane stared at the cover of her notebook. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Jupiter thought she appeared to be bracing herself. "Do you believe in past lives?"

"Past lives?" This was something Auntie Nino ranted about during weekend seances in the dining room. Aleksa always scoffed: "Don't fill my daughter's head with this shit, Nino. You get one life, Jupiter! Don't fuck it up!" Jupiter liked to keep an open mind about spiritual stuff. She didn't think Jane would appreciate Aleksa's brand of wisdom. "No idea. Why do you ask?" 

"There's this process I'm studying. Like cloning but more advanced. I think it can be used to..." Jane paused, searching for the right words. "To make the same person twice."

Jupiter shivered. "How...is that possible?" 

"I'm trying to figure that out," Jane explained. "I'm not a geneticist. But I think it has to do with these extended lifespans Asgardians seem to have." Jupiter registered the name Asgard with a quickening pulse. She's talking about the aliens. "If a human could live for thousands of years, travelling all over the universe...It's possible that, through dozens of generations of genes combining, there could be a duplicate."

"A duplicate?" The idea made Jupiter thoroughly uncomfortable. "Even if two people have the exact same genes, that doesn't make them the same person," she pointed out.

"No, but there are these twin studies. The Boucher studies in '79, University of Minnesota." Jane opened her notebook again. She pointed to something like a double helix. "See, twins don't even have all the same DNA, just a lot in common. Identical twins, separated at birth, have an enormously likely chance of growing up to have the same bodytypes, the same professions...one study even found that they choose to own the same breed of dog. They even gave their dogs the same name."

Before Jupiter could stop herself, she was wondering what kind of dog her alien twin would get. "That is totally creepy," she murmured. "Cool, but creepy."

"That's what I'm saying. Imagine! Imagine if there were two of you. A whole other you, out there orbiting some star in Cygnus, just living an identical life."

The thought seemed to get Jane excited. Maybe too excited--something was off. The lab felt weirdly silent when Jane wasn't speaking. There was no air moving, no traffic noise. Jupiter's skin started to crawl. "Different people have different memories," Jupiter said, reasonably certain. "Different experiences. You can't have two of the same person."

"Well, we know DNA stores memory," Jane countered, frantically. "And sometimes, I even think I'm having memories of a previous life. Like a totally different me. Does that ever happen to you?"

Jupiter shook her head no but Jane wasn't really paying attention. She had a far-off look on her face like she was watching a movie that nobody else could see. Jane started tapping her fingers on the lab table, almost trance-like. Jupiter was on the verge of backing out of the lab and pretending the whole conversation never happened. Then Jane reached out and grabbed her hand. 

"I know it sounds crazy but I feel like I remember something, Jupiter," she breathed. "From a past life."

"You're right," Jupiter said. "You do sound crazy. Dr. Foster, do you need to lie down for a minute?" 

"No. No, I need to stand up." Jane began pacing.

"Um." Jupiter glanced toward the door. "Well if we're done here, I'm gonna go, ok?"

"No! Jupiter, wait." Jane reached out with one hand, fraught with desperation. She locked onto Jupiter. "Let me just ask you one thing, ok?"

"Ok," Jupiter said softly. She held herself extra still, taking care to make no sudden movements. 

"You and me...did we used to be ballerinas?"

Jupiter snorted. The tension in the room was completely shattered. "Me? A ballerina? Like...?" Jupiter pictured herself in a tutu and toe shoes and burst into uncontrollable laughter. "Um, I'm a total spaz. No way."

Jane's grip relaxed. "You're right. I'm acting crazy." Jupiter looked on in alarm as Jane's eyes filled with tears. "I've just been working so hard. This genetic recurrence thing, I keep turning it over in my head. I'm so close to understanding how it works and...and...I've been having this deep amygdala response to Swan Lake...and this dream..." Jane looked faint. She was clearly out of sorts; Jupiter decided to take charge.

"Doctor, you should really eat something besides the Cookie Crisp stashed in your bathroom," Jupiter declared. "Come on. I'm taking you out to dinner."

"No, I can't. We can't leave. I need to finish this research." The rebuff held notes of panic over a chorus of uncertainty. 

"You'll finish it a lot faster if you get a good meal in you. We'll be so quick; I know just the place." Jupiter made use of her long lashes and her most innocent, pleading expression. It was the same one she used to flirt. "Come on. We can talk more about Swan Lake."

\----

"So Jane--can I call you Jane?" 

"I suppose. Where are we going?"

The restaurant was one of Katherine's favorites: a trendy cocktail spot by Fulton Market. They were underdressed. Jupiter had tried to convince Jane to change clothes but the scientist was dead set on getting out and home as quickly as possible. She even offered to pay for an Uber. "Here, let's just clean up a bit in the car," Jupiter suggested. She pulled off her apron and helped Jane out of her lab coat. "You can borrow my leather jacket. And maybe some lip gloss?"

"This tastes like fruit," Jane observed, dabbing the sticky moisture between her lips.

"Pineapple," Jupiter replied. She looked Dr. Foster up and down; the makeup, leather, and messy hair combined in dangerous potency. "Hey! Look at you. You clean up nice, Doc." 

Jupiter had to flirt with the bouncer to get him to overlook their casual footwear. "No sneakers," the man sulked, gesturing to a list of rules.

"Oh no. How will we be sneaky?" She batted her eyelashes and smiled hopefully. He crumbled. 

"Just the once," he said, stepping aside and allowing them to enter the chatter of noise. Music, voices, and glass tumblers clinking against tables combined into a hive of sound. Jupiter entered like an industrious bee.

"What would you have done if he'd said no?" Jane asked, following Jupiter in minor awe.

"Taken the shoes off. Then asked if there was anything else he wanted me to remove." 

"You're terrible!" Jane exclaimed. "Worse than Darcy." But Jupiter could hear the appreciation in her voice. Taking Jane by the hand, Jupiter smiled mischievously and started to make her way toward the bar.

"Hey Jupiter!" The bartender remembered Jupiter by name. Jupiter struggled to reciprocate. Lacy? Lucy? Yes, that was right. Lucy was tall and tattooed with heavy eyebrows and an unusually square face. She smiled at Jane. "Two for one well drinks, tonight." 

"Thanks! Give us two Long Islands," Jupiter replied. "And a tapas menu."

"Actually, you know, I'm not really that hungry," Jane protested. 

"That's good 'cause this place is really expensive," Jupiter answered. Lucy handed over drinks and a menu, which Jupiter perused. "What do you think: scallops, or cherry peppers in tomato coulis? Totally up to you."

"Um, well..." Jane hesitated. Jupiter took a long gulp, mouthing her straw with a decadent appreciation. Jane sighed, seeming to resign herself, just as the bouncer had. "Tomato coulis does sound really good." 

"Great. We'll take that, the fig and proscuitto sausage, and whipped goat cheese with orange vinagrette," Jupiter told the bartender.

The fancy dishes were served in tiny, square-shaped dishes under vibrant blue and pink light. Jupiter ate and drank with enthusiasm. Jane nibbled at first, but after depleting her Long Island considerably she picked up a fork and skewered the remaining cherry peppers. 

"Pretty good, right?" Jupiter chirped. Jane nodded, finishing her drink with a stab at recklessness. "Hey, why did the tomato blush?"

"I don't know...why?"

Jupiter waved to Lucy for another round. "Because she saw the salad dressing!"

Jane snorted. "That is the stupidest joke I've ever heard."

"Oh yeah?" Jupiter leaned in playfully. She addressed Jane with a friendly, teasing tone. "So now you've got some food in you, do you still think you're a reincarnated ballerina?"

Jane froze. She looked scandalized. "You know, there's real research to indicate--"

"I know I know! Come on, I'm just curious." Jupiter could tell Jane needed to open up to someone. She tried her best to convey sobriety--or at least, sincerity. "Tell me about this ballerina thing." 

Anxiety drained from Jane's big brown eyes. She finally relaxed a little. "I had this dream about a connection. Two dancers were spinning at opposite ends of the universe. Ballet dancers. Even though they were separated by stars of enormous magnitude and mass, and a chasm of space so devoid of energy or matter that we can't accurately measure it, and countless magnetic fields, they were spinning in the same direction. They were connected by state, like waves in the same ocean. Permanently entangled, perpetually communicating, against all physical laws.'"

Lucy set a couple of fresh iced teas down on the bar with a "thunk." Jupiter let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "The ballerinas were us? Or our gene twins?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I thought they looked like us, in my dream. Then I saw you, and I thought, wow, maybe? But now that I say it all out loud..." Jane hiccuped. "I'm pretty sure it was just about quantum entanglement or something. Einstein called it 'spooky action at a distance.'" 

Something about the way Jane slurred the word "distance" held a poignant reminder. "You know, last time I came here with my friend Katherine, she said something similar. I think she was also talking about long-distance entanglements and star-crossed connections."

"Is she a physicist?"

"No. She'd just been dumped."

Jane sipped her drink and said nothing. She drained the glass, then sort of slowly crumpled into a ball of sadness on the polished surface of the bar.

"Oh, Jane. Forget I said anything! Let's get back to genetic space ballerinas, yeah?"

"Thor..." Jane slurred, mournfully. "I was so sure he'd come back."

"Thor? Is that...?" Certain news outlets had used the term 'extraterrestial.' Jupiter tried to think of a more delicate way to put it.

"Yes, my ex." Jane said. "You know, maybe I should back away from this project. Send my notes to someone more qualified. It's just, I really thought there might be a link between genetics and long-distance space travel. I'm so desperate to figure this out. I haven't taken a break since I got to Chicago."

Jupiter got the sense this was true. "Well, are you so sure you want to give up? Maybe you just need to blow off a little steam. I mean, it sounds like you're making headway, but under a lot of pressure."

"Yeah," Jane veritably whimpered. "That sounds about right." 

"You know, just a few hours ago," Jupiter confessed, "I was basically fantasizing that you would call me over to gab about space. Or aliens, or something. You're a celebrity expert! But now..." Jupiter rested a hand on Jane's arm. "I'm really glad we got to hang out like this." 

Jane smiled. Jupiter couldn't tell if the color in her cheeks was from booze or blushing. "Me too."

There was a moment. The bar swelled with the rhythm of music and chatter; Jupiter had an idea. "Ok. New plan. I know a place we can go get cheered up."

"I thought this was the place...??"

"No no." Jupiter waved to Lucy that she was ready to pay the tab. She reached for her purse. "This is way better. Trust me."

\---

Jupiter woke to a bleary-eyed blur. High contrast shapes filled a half-remembered room; a few deep breaths cleared the still-drunk haze. The guy from the strip club was passed out next to her. What had he said his name was? Magician Mike?

They'd had an instant connection. Jupiter had been down to her last handful of ones--she'd loaned a few to Jane, who didn't carry cash--when those lights came down, his song started, and they locked eyes. His routine was some kind of weird, dance-heavy spaceman thing; Jupiter was all aboard. She had expected the evening to end with him taking her home but they weren't in (question mark?) Mike's home. They were definitely in Jane Foster's living room.

Jane, meanwhile, was passed out on the couch with a question mark of her own. They were cuddled under a blanket, big spoon and little spoon, both fully clothed and smiling peacefully. She'd never been to a strip club before. By last call, Jupiter thought, Jane had observed a new perspective on life; she'd laughed, drank, enjoyed a few dances. Some of them were free and none of them were anything like ballet.

Unfortunately, at present, something was ringing. The alarm? It was the alarm Jupiter set on her phone in case she stayed out too late: 3:30am, enough time to get home and in bed before Aleksa's 4:45 wake up call. Jupiter struggled to extricate herself from the tangle of blankets on the floor. She groped for her phone and, subsequently, her jeans. Her leather jacket, only slightly worse for the wear, had been balled underneath her head. She reached into the pocket and pulled out a business cards. She debated leaving it for (?) Mike. Ultimately, she decided, Jane needed it more.

She found a pen in Jane's study. _Call if you need anything,_ she wrote. Jupiter scribbled down her cell number, crossing out Vassily's business line. She left the business motto unmarked. _"Bolotnikov's Best. Bathrooms, Kitchens, Bedrooms. Tough Messes Handled."_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nonsuch for the beta!


End file.
